


Swan

by Ursula



Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-01-04
Updated: 2010-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 18:38:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ursula/pseuds/Ursula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Burke and Neal Caffrey go into prison to talk to Tulane and are caught in a riot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Title: Swan

Author: Ursula  
Rating: rating: R for violence  
Genre and/or Pairing: Peter/Neal  
Notes: Swans mate for life and will stand in the face of death by their wounded mate.  
Spoilers: not many except for series general facts  
Warnings: Violence  
Word Count:   
Summary: Visiting Super Max to interrogate Tulane, Peter and Neal are caught in a prison riot.

 

OooOooO

Peter's mind raced ahead, eager for the interview with Adrian Tulane. He glanced at Neal who sat next to him with arms folded and a sullen expression on his face. "Are you still sulking?"

"I am not sulking," Neal said. "I just have a bad feeling about this."

"It's in your best interests for me to get more information from Tulane," Peter said. "Don't you want to know who is behind framing you?"

"Yes, but why drag me back there?" Neal said.

"I want you to be my personal lie detector. Tulane is like you on steroids," Peter said.

"Oh, now you're insulting my masculinity," Neal retorted.

"I waited for fifteen minutes this morning while you blow dried and styled your hair," Peter shot back. "Your masculinity does not bear close scrutiny."

"Just because I care about my appearance," Neal said. "You ever think that I might have PTSD?"

"Oh, oh, so you're playing that card? That may work with El, but don't trot that out with me," Peter said. "You spent four years building a fan club of hardened criminals. I checked on you."

Giving up, Neal said, "That was sweet of you, checking on me."

"I was checking on you because I was afraid you might have taken over the prison," Peter said, grinning. "When we meet with Tulane, can you please not ask him for his autograph?"

"I wasn't planning to," said Neal. "I am all over him. There is such a thing as honor among thieves. Or there ought to be."

Peter laughed again and resisted the urge to reach over and ruffle Neal's hair. "You can't trust guys like Tulane. I'm the one who takes care of you."

To Peter's surprise, Neal nodded and said, "I know that."

"Just stay close to me and listen to Tulane when he talks," Peter said. "Tell me when you would have lied and I'll bet that's when he will be lying. I need you in there, Neal."

Now Neal offered Peter one of those looks which melted Peter's heart no matter how he resisted. "You have me, Peter."

"I know I do," Peter said. It felt as if they were having another conversation between the lines.

OooOooO

Following Peter through the doors of Super Max was frightening. Peter didn't seem to guess that no big drama had to occur for Neal to hate being here. Especially after the recent events, being thrown back in here, he could not see these walls, even when he was not in chains, not in a prison jumper, not in custody, without feeling them closing in on him.

Neal stepped closer to Peter as the guards eyed him, recognizing him. He was walking so close that he had to concentrate least he bump into Peter.

"Neal," Peter hissed. "Neal, what are you trying to do? Catch a piggy back ride? Give me some space."

Ignoring Peter, Neal continued to tag as closely as he could. Since Peter had dragged him here, Peter could cope with the consequences such as Neal wanting to make sure that no one dragged him off and threw him in his old cell.

Tulane was in the same visitation room where Peter interrogated Neal on both occasions he had visited in Super Max. The clever thief was here for the same reason Neal had been, risk of escape. When Tulane was young, he had a two year sentence, escaped in a spectacular fashion, and ended up serving longer for the escape than he would have served for the original crime.

Tulane eyed Neal with a look of contempt on his face. He sat wearing the same kind of jump suit Neal had worn for four years. One elbow was on the table, his leg was crossed. He was doing a good job at looking insouciant. Neal spared him some admiration for masking so well.

"So Caffrey, do you enjoy being the FBI's prison bitch?"

"More so than you are enjoying your life here," Neal answered. "I know you had your own devil's bargain so I'm not impressed with your indignation. Who was your keeper? I chose mine." Neal looked at Peter with unhidden pleasure, proud of his keeper.

Peter's eyes bounced between the two thieves like he was watching a tennis match. He said, "I offered you a deal before."

"How can you offer me protection when you don't even know all the players?" Tulane said, skeptically.

"I can tell you that my protection is better than whatever deal you have," Peter said.

"You want me on a leash like your pet, Caffrey?" Tulane said.

"No," Peter said.

Neal breathed a sigh of relief. He did not want the competition from Tulane. The arrangement between Peter and him was based on Peter's knowledge that Neal could be trusted in certain respects. Trusted not to use violence and to try to keep his bargain as best as he could. Tulane might be an admirable criminal, but he did not have Neal's commitment to non violence. He had put two guards in the hospital when he escaped. He had used a gas during one heist that almost killed several innocent bystanders due to a miscalculation. Neal never took chances like that. Nothing, no art work, no jewel, nor any amount of money equaled one human life.

"Burke, has Caffrey ever told you what it was like here?" Tulane said.

"It's reasonably safe. Single man cells. Close observation. It's what I wanted for Neal," Peter said. "To keep him from escaping and for his safety."

"Prison bitch material," Tulane said. "Too pretty, too soft for gen pop."

Liking Tulane less by the moment, Neal moved away from both Tulane and Peter to lean against the wall. The guard's eyes followed him.

"You know that two inmates have died here in the last six months?" Tulane said. "Suspicious circumstances, my ass! The guards did it. Right, Caffrey? They're not so nice, Burke. You want to know who framed your boy? Get me out of here. Get me transferred to minimum security. I won't escape. I'm safer inside at the moment, but not in this hell hole. I'm telling you if this prison inspection that is going on today doesn't change what's happening, there's going to be a riot."

Peter turned toward Neal, motioned him forward. Neal obeyed. He saw the guard looking uneasy, his head turned toward sounds that seem too loud, wrong.

The sounds grew louder. Neal was uneasy. He said, "Peter, something is not right."

The guard's radio squawked. "Lock down. Lock down."

Multiple voices shriek over the intercom. Neal heard gun shots. Peter quickly said, "Neal, whatever's happening, I think we need to stay right here."

The guard had panicked, opening the door. Suddenly there was a wall of sound. A roaring animalistic cacophony. There was a shot and the guard spun, his gun flying. Peter was unarmed but he scurried forward to grab the gun. Tulane dived for it at the same time. There was a shot and Peter staggered. Neal dashed forward, grabbed Peter, dragged him back in the room.

Tulane held the gun pointed at them. Neal's body shielded Peter without heisitation.

"So that's the way it is?" Tulane said. He looked at the gun, shrugged and said, "Good luck keeping your Feebie alive in here."

Dazed, Peter said, "Check the guard."

The guard wasn't breathing. Neal checked his pulse. He was going to lean down and listen for a heart beat, but that's where the bullets had blasted. The bloody hole left no doubt that the man was dead. Neal winced, moved away, glad it was not someone he knew, but still feeling sick and troubled.

Before Neal could get back to Peter, someone loomed over him. It was Stoner.

"Caffrey?" Stoner said.

Stoner was a gang banger, a total illiterate. Neal wrote letters home for the guy, to several girl friends, his mother, and his little brothers. "Hey, Stoner, what's up?"

"We got the place," Stoner said. He stepped through and aimed his gun at Peter.

"No," Neal yelled, wheeling around to get in front of the gun.

"What? You in love with that cop?" Stoner said.

"He's my friend," Neal said.

"Well, man, I owe you," Stoner said. "We got the prison reform people hostage. Get the dude on his feet and I'll put you two in with those guys. Valuable hostages."

"Peter is valuable," Neal assured.

"Yeah, I heard his name," Stoner said. "He put a lot of people here, Neal. Don't know if I can make the favor stretch to keeping him alive. You're not too popular here either. I tell you what. You keep your trap shut. We won't tell anyone who either of you are. You're all dressed up pretty so let them think you are part of the reform group."

"Thank you," Neal said. "Peter, did you hear Stoner? You have to play it cool. Don't tell anyone who you are."

"Okay," Peter said, leaning heavily on Neal.

Stoner waved a couple of his fellow gang members over and they spear headed a path down the hall.

Neal could only hope that Tulane would keep quiet about who Peter was.

OooOooO

The reform committee had been herded into the library. They huddled along one wall, looking terrified. Neal guided Peter down in what looked like a defensible corner and went looking for the first aid kit he knew was in one corner of the library in the caged off area where the guard would sit.

"Sit down" the inmate in charge said. He was one of Stoner's fellow gang members. They seemed to be in charge of this area.

Holding up his hands, Neal said, "I'm just getting the first aid kit. Peace."

The kid, the young black man was no older than eighteen or nineteen, snorted. "Yeah, peace out. Go ahead. Guess we don't want no dead hostages."

The first aid kit had yellowed boxes of compresses in it, adhesive, aspirin, tweezers, a small plastic scissor, a tube of antibiotic ointment, and some alcohol pads. Neal found a bottle of unopened water and added it to his supplies. Neal carried his treasures back to Peter, who did not look good.

"How you holding up, Neal?" Peter whispered.

That was Peter, concerned about Neal when he was bleeding. Neal snapped on the disposable gloves that came with the kit. He didn't know if it would help keep Peter's wound from being infected, but he hoped it would. He opened Peter's shirt. The bullet had passed through Peter's side. It had missed any vital organs and did not seem to have hit anything dangerous like an artery. It had not hit bone. Peter had lost a lot of blood and he was in pain.

Rocking back on his heels, Neal shuddered and said, "I think I need to try to clean this thing."

Smiling, Peter said, "Next time you don't want to do something, I think I'll listen. Thanks for sticking with me."

"Are you kidding? I would rather face every inmate in this prison, two murderous counterfeiters and an avaricious Cindiana Jones with a gun then have El find out that I didn't stand by her man."

Peter's smile was a little more worn now. He looked grey. Neal checked quickly. The bullet had skimmed along Peter's side. There was no real exit wound, but Neal was sure that the bullet was more like a deep gouge, as lucky as poor Peter was going to get if he had to be shot. There was some residue and bruises around the entry point from the close range shot.

Neal said, "I'm going to hurt you, Peter."

"Yeah, I kind of knew that from the start," Peter said, looking deep into Neal's eyes.

Oh.

Oh, hell of a time for Peter to decide to have that discussion. Neal said, "Close your eyes, please, Peter."

It was horrible. Worse by far than Neal could ever have expected. The sounds that came from Peter hurt Neal. He wanted to stop, wanted to run from this duty, wondered why he had to do this.

Swiftly cleaning the wound, Neal used the compresses to cover the wound. If he knew for sure that they would be rescued soon, he would have just held the bandages but it could take hours for the outside to make a decision. It could take days. He secured the bandages but kept pressure on the wound. He helped Peter down to the floor. There were no blankets, but one of the men, a minister in his clerical collar, gave Neal his coat to cover Peter. Neal sat down, Peter's head in his lap and waited.

El was going to be so frightened when she heard. Neal wondered how Moz would handle it. Moz was the nervous type. Waiting was not one of his things. Neal was patient when he had to be, but this was torture. He was so worried about Peter.

OooOooO

Waking up, Peter was aware of pain radiating from his side. It was not content to center on the wound; it pulsed through his body, strobed up and down his side, and made a pit stop to his stomach. His head was in Neal's lap. His partner looked frightened, weary, and freaked. Neal's hand was still near the gun shot wound, but no longer applying pressure.

"Bleeding stopped?" Peter asked.

"For now," Neal said.

"You sure you picked the right side in this war?" Peter asked.

"The only side I could live with," Neal said.

"For fear of El?" Peter asked.

"That's part of it," Neal said.

Neal's eyes offered something tender and deep that Peter was sure he was not meant to see. He did see it though. His partner, his prisoner, was in love with him. Peter knew it for a while. He knew it in his heart. It should have grieved him, he knew that. It was ridiculously impossible, certainly impractical, and was as lovely as a sonnet, as precious as a Rembrandt.

Lifting his head, Peter evaluated the room. They were in a small library with several shelves of books, racks of paperbacks and periodicals, three computer kiosks. There was a cage with bullet proof glass for the guard and librarian. Three young black men were eying a huddle of prisoners. There was an elderly black minister, a glossily dressed Hispanic reporter that Peter recognized from a popular expose show, and two middle aged political types, one black, one white. There were no women, which was a blessing.

"You need to stay still, Peter," Neal admonished.

"What's happening?" Peter asked.

"Negotiations, the Reverend Town is with the leaders of the riot and is trying to get terms," Neal replied.

"They won't do it," Peter said. "No matter what. It's a no win situation."

"I know," Neal said. He leaned close enough to kiss and said, "Tell them you are Agent Peter Jones. So far, no one but my friend, Stoner, recognized me. Last time most of them saw me, I was going for the ZZ Top look."

"Tulane," Peter said. "He shot me . He's going to be very motivated to make sure neither of us make it out."

"Or not, he seems to be keeping a low profile or he got out somehow in the confusion," Neal said. "Tulane is bright."

Throat dry, Peter asked, "Can you get me some water?"

"I'm not sure I can do that," Neal said. "You're not supposed to have anything by mouth."

"The paramedics aren't going to come crashing through the door in fifteen minutes. Get me some water, Neal."

Peter watched the thought process through Neal's head, weighing the risks versus the benefit of making Peter comfortable. Peter was so thirsty, his mouth dry.

"Okay, but not a lot," Neal said. "Just a few sips."

"Yes," Peter said. He was so tired. Neal's lap was bony, but he didn't want to move. Neal eased him down, pillowing Peter's head on Neal's coat.

There was a brief argument and then Neal was back with a water bottle. Neal scooted back against the wall and carefully raised Peter, letting him drink. Neal had a few mouthfuls from the same bottle.

"Better?" Neal asked.

"Sure," Peter lied. He liked Neal leaning over him, his big blue eyes luminous, his expression something an artist should paint.

"Thank you," Peter said, reaching up with his right hand to touch Neal's face. Neal's lips trembled beneath the brief caress.

"I'm okay," Neal said.

"I know, I just wanted to touch you," Peter admitted.

Neal went silent, head bent down at a lovely angle, eyes veiled. "Peter, I ..."

"Yeah, I know," Peter said. "I knew before you did. Me too."

Confusion flooded the dear face. Neal looked as if he wanted to ask a thousand questions, none of which could be answered here.

"Rest, Peter, rest."

"You too," Peter said. "This could be a long one."

OooOooO

The hours ticked away. The good news was that they were still negotiating. The bad news was that the alliance that briefly had cemented rival gangs, organized crime members, bikers, Indians, and lone wolves together was eroding.

In the middle of the night, Bloods decided that Crips should not be in charge of the valuable hostages. There was a gunfight outside the library and then a group of bikers took over the guard duties, having vanquished Bloods and Crips. One of the burly men, believed he was framed by an FBI agent and wanted a taste of Peter. He and his partner headed for Peter, intending to beat him. Neal could only defend Peter by spreading himself across his friend, taking the beating on his own body, refusing to move away.

The blows rained down and it was hard not to curl up, protect himself, but Neal willed his body to endure even when Peter tried to fight him away. Hardly one blow fell on Peter. They could have dragged Neal off, the two bikers who played the game, but they seemed amused by him. They wanted to see how much he could take.

Neal took it all. He spread his wiry arms over Peter like wings. His body arched over Peter. He was strong. People saw his slenderness. They saw that he was finely made. They did not see the naked strength of muscle tightly welded to bone. They did not see the body that could jump four stories under perfect control; that could swing from a rope to avoid an alarm; that could gloriously leap from one building to another to escape pursuit. They did not know his soul within, the heart that loved deeply and faithfully despite his flirtations and pretenses.

When members of organized crime took over and kicked the bikers from the room, Neal carefully moved away from Peter and curled beside him. He made no sound, no whimper. He had done what needed to be done.

OooOooO

"Neal?" Peter whispered. There was no sound from the huddled figure. "Oh, Neal," Peter said. He reached over to make sure his friend was breathing. Neal moaned at his touch.

Never, ever, in his life had Peter seen an act so brave as that wiry body arched over him, protecting him, taking in his own flesh every blow meant for Peter. It was astonishing. Toward the end, Peter could not believe that Neal was even fully conscious. How could he be? The bikers had pummeled him, kicked him, and beaten him with the guard's bully sticks they had taken. Yet, when rescue had come, Neal had carefully taken his body away from Peter's and had fallen to the side.

Moaning, Neal moved toward Peter's hand. His own hand covered Peter's. Peter whispered low in the darkness, "I love you, but don't ever do that again."

"Don't think I can." Neal said. His face was untouched. All of the injuries were to his body. Peter hated to think about how many there were.

"It's going to be all right," Neal said. "I'll get you home to El."

"Let's get us both home," Peter said.

Sometime in college, Peter stopped believing in the Catholic God of his family. His life had been full of pleasures and excitement. The pomp and ceremony had no meaning.

Here, in this prison, Peter hoped there was a god out there. Hoped that it was one who recognized love in all of its diversities. Hoped there was a god that saved swans who stood in front of wounded mates and beautiful young men who loved unwisely and offered all for those they adored.

Peter hoped and prayed.

OooOooO

The wound was throbbing and Peter felt fever licking at his head. He fought not to give in. He needed a clear mind. Neal struggled across the room for more water. He stayed and talked to one of the Mafia soldiers. Holding his ribs with a spread hand, Neal sat down.

"They are going to deal," Neal said. "Scarletti just heard."

"Really?" Peter said. "I don't know. They don't do that."

"Going to send some vans in for the ring leaders," Neal said.

"Sounds wrong," Peter said.

"They're having some big meeting about it," Neal reported.

Peter saw the inmate guards at the door and he beckoned Representative Starling over and his opponent, Representative Grand. The two older men were uninjured and were in reasonably good shape. Peter said, "You get a chance, shut that door, move everything you can against it. Believe me. It's our best chance."

"Peter?" Neal said. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am sure," Peter said. "They can't let those guys go."

Now the organized crime foot soldiers hurried away to be replaced by low level inmates who stood in the corridor, straining to hear what was going on in the hub of the cell block. The two politicians, the reporter, and the minister moved cautiously toward the door.

The ill disciplined inmates paid no attention, raptly watching the meeting on the closed circuit TV that someone had set up in the hall.

The door slammed. Like clockwork, the odd team of middle aged men shoved book shelves to block the door. Swiftly they moved the desk, the tables, everything they could to prevent entry.

Outside was madness. Gun shots, screams, sirens.

Neal and Peter sat together. Neither was in any shape to fight. They could only sit, wait, shoulder to shoulder. Peter spent some time, writing a letter to El in case. Neal did not write to Kate. Peter noticed that.

"I have a family plot," Peter said. "There's room next to me and El. I'd like you there if it's needed. You would be pretty good company."

"Yours through eternity?" Neal said. "I'd like that. I think El would like to visit us together if it comes to that."

Peter added that to his letter. He didn't say anything that should not be said if they survived and someone read what he wrote.

OooOooO

The sounds grew less. The reverend prayed for them all. Peter's prayer was more profane. He prayed that there would be a tomorrow with Neal by his side. He prayed he could keep Neal safe, even from Kate, especially from Kate. He prayed that El would understand that he could not love her more if he loved Neal less. He prayed that love was enough and that his faith in Neal was an offering sufficient for any merciful god.

The voice from the loudspeaker penetrated. "If anyone is alive in there, move the barriers; get down on the floor, hands behind your backs."

Peter thought that perhaps he should give god another chance.

The other men had to help both Peter and Neal down. They moved the barriers, quickly falling to the floor in submission.

The heavily armored men thundered into the room. There was commotion and confusion as the SWAT team checked ID.

"FBI agent," Peter announced.

"See your ID," one of the men demanded.

"Here," Peter said. "The man next to me is Neal Caffrey. He's mine...my consultant."

"Got an ankle bracelet," another man said.

"And FBI identification," added yet another.

"Get some medics," the man in charge said. They all looked alike in their masks, their armor, and their weapons.

Loaded onto stretchers, Peter and Neal rode to the hospital together.

Peter had a mildly infected wound, a fever, was dehydrated and his blood pressure was way too high.

Neal probably had broken ribs and bruised kidneys.

Peter still felt they were lucky.

"Guess we won't need those funeral plots," Neal said.

"No," Peter said, but he would keep the letter whether he ever showed it to El.

"Peter, whatever we said in there," Neal said.

"Was true and we will have to talk some time," Peter said. "Not here."

"Hey," Neal said. "Did you hear?"

"What?" Peter said, his mind groggy as he gave into the exhaustion he had been fighting.

"Tulane escaped," Neal said.

"One up for your side?" Peter said, coming back out of his slide toward sleep.

"The only side I have is by your side," Neal said, slicing right through any defenses Peter might be trying to rebuild.

"I guess he could have betrayed me to the other cons," Peter said. "Not as bad as he could have been. But certainly not as good as the con I picked as a partner."

"And I picked the right FBI agent," Neal said.

"We always did have good taste," Peter observed.

Peter let his eyes rest on Neal. It was good. He might not light a candle in thanks, but there was a small light glowing inside him.

Love is a four letter word that spells faith.

End


	2. His Plumage Shining White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the riot, Elizabeth goes to the hospital to check on her husband and Neal

OooOooO

Huddled on her couch, El watched the coverage of the prison riot. This was the part of her life with Peter that she hated. If she ever left Peter, it would be because she could not handle the idea of the time she would hear that his strong spirit had gone to investigate the mysteries beyond the scope of the FBI.

Peter's boss and friend, Hughes, had come in person to tell her that Peter was caught in the riot and was supposed to be one of the hostages. Neal was an afterthought, less than one. Hughes only confirmed that Neal was also inside when El asked. Peter's boss had said, "Ms. Burke, we have no way of telling what role Mr. Caffrey is playing. He could be siding with the convicts."

Standing up, furious, El's voice had crackled as she said, "He is not. He is with Peter, using whatever resources he can find to help him. You don't know Neal, Mr. Hughes. That's obvious."

Hughes wore that worried look he frequently had when dealing with Peter. He made some polite noises, asked El if there was anything he could do. Did she want someone to come and stay with her.

El said, "I want you to get Peter's team in there so they can get him out. I want Peter and Neal back safely. I want you to make sure that Neal isn't separated from Peter when they are rescued. It would make Peter worry if Neal isn't with him."

"Yes, Elizabeth," Hughes had said and exited, shaking his head. One thing Neal really didn't understand. Peter was not Hughes' by the book agent. He worried his boss to no end, but he was Hughes' favorite for myriad reasons. Neal was the one that glittered, but Peter's charm took time to sink in.

People liked Peter as well as they liked Neal. Peter sometimes played a role just as Neal did; Peter played himself as an all-American boy, full of enthusiasm and aw-shucks wonder. His facade of the man in the ill fitting suit clouded people to the sharp, creative, fire of his mind. The loose cut of the cloth covered Peter's wonderful body, that El wished she was touching right now.

El had fallen for Peter not so much for his looks, which she loved, but for what she saw beneath. She had fallen for him when she realized that he had burned for her not so much when he saw her, but when he spoke to her. When Peter realized she was as bright as he was and as strong-willed if not so more so, that was when he loved her. El fell in love with the man who thought her mind and spirit was beautiful.

OooOooO

Back to the TV, hating the way the news consultants analyzed the risks to the hostages, El wished there was something she could do. She had fantasies of going in like a female ninja and spiriting her husband and her friend to safety. She was glad no one had slipped the news that an FBI agent was also a hostage. That meant there was some chance that Neal could lie his way to some sort of safety with Peter.

Watching and waiting was not El's preferred role. No fool and no weak protected woman, Elizabeth knew what that could mean. Peter and El watched the coverage of last years prison riots in California. Even worse were the riots in Lucasville, Ohio where guards were captured and held; that had occurred in 1993 seventeen years ago before El met Peter, but there was Lucy whose father was a guard. She had spent days comforting her terrified friend and cried with her when she found out her father was safe. She was well aware that her husband's chances were not good. Neal's were possibly worse given that his situation with Peter made him a reviled snitch.

In the middle of her thoughts, El's phone rang. It was dear Jones...no one called him Clinton except his older family members... who said that the hostages were free. Peter was not in danger but injured. Neal had been beaten and might have some broken ribs, but he was also not in serious condition. Both were on their way to the hospital. They were together and would be kept together. Jones was following the ambulance, but Hannah Chisom was on her way to get El.

Hannah Chisom was next to Jones the most senior member of Peter's team. She was steadfast, calm, and endured Peter's temperament almost as well as Jones. For the longest time, El didn't even know her name. She finally asked, "Peter, who is the woman who wears her hair pulled back in a pony tail. She has a long face and an olive complexion."

"That's Hannah Chisom. She's almost as good at research as Jones," Peter said.

"How long has she worked with you?" Elizabeth had asked.

"Three or four years," Peter said.

"And all this time, you never introduced her?" El said.

"No, why?" Peter said.

El could have hit him, but Peter could be so oblivious when it came to social matters not concerned with a case.

OooOooO

Waiting on front stairs, El was ready to go, Peter's overnight bag in her hand. She had nothing for Neal, but had called the private phone number for Moz...the one she swore she would not give to Peter. Moz would pack a similar bag for Neal so he would be more comfortable at the hospital and so he could leave in Neal style.

According to Peter, Hannah had one vice. She drove like the Tasmanian Devil. Today her peccadillo was greatly appreciated.

"Did you see them?" El asked.

"No, Ma'am, I was in the office. Jones took the lead in the field. He's senior on the team," Hannah said.

"You don't have to call me, Ma'am," El said. She hated being called Ma'am. Ma'am was her maiden aunt, Sally, the lawyer. Although, Elizabeth wasn't so sure Sally was so much maiden as she was lesbian, given her long-term residence with her best friend, Shelby. Mother just couldn't handle the concept, poor thing so always referred to Sally as El's maiden aunt.

"Yes, Ma...Elizabeth," Hannah said.

OooOooO

Peter was just going into surgery when El arrived. She had time to kiss him and quickly clasp his hand before they wheeled him away. She located Neal in a treatment room, looking abandoned and pathetic. His face was untouched, but when the sheet fell away, El caught her breath. His chest as far as she could see was black and blue. His foot was outside the blanket, the tracker looking like another bruise to El. She gently moved Neal's foot back on the examination bed and covered it.

"How's Peter?' Neal asked.

"He's just gone into surgery," El replied.

"They said he would be fine," Neal said. He sounded as if he meant to reassure El, but his voice quavered.

"What happened?" El asked.

"It was nothing I did," Neal immediately said.

See there it was! Neal's first assumption when something went wrong was that it would be blamed on him. El said, "I know that, sweetheart. I just wanted to know more. All I know is what I've seen on TV. Hughes wouldn't tell me anything."

"We went into supermax to interview Tulane," Neal said. "Peter was using his magic tricks on him, but nothing was working. Tulane was frightened of something, Fowler, I think. We heard a lot of noise and then this prisoner was struggling with the guard. He shot Peter. I got Peter inside the interrogation room. Finally, I saw a guy I did time with and he put us in the library with the other hostages. He did a good thing, not pointing out that Peter was a Fed."

"How did you get hurt?" El asked.

"Some Hell's Angels figured out who Peter was and were going to beat him up," Neal said. "He was already wounded. I couldn't let that happen so I protected him."

"How?' El said.

"I just got between him and the men," Neal said. "I was protecting my investment, my freedom so don't make a big deal out of it."

El shook her head. She said, "Neal, don't try to be a tough guy. I like you the way you are." She gathered his beautiful artist's hand and kissed the delicate fingers. She knew he was strong and capable, but he wasn't a violent man. He hated violence.

A nurse came in and said, "They can take you in X-rays now."

"X Rays? Why?"

"He probably has some broken ribs," the nurse said.

"Neal!" El said.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, don't worry," Neal said as they wheeled him away.

OooOooO

Jones was in the waiting room with Hannah. He stood up, taking El's hand immediately. "They'll be all right.'

"How was Neal hurt?" El asked, not satisfied with Neal's explanation.

"From what I heard from the other hostages, Neal put his body right over Peter. He wouldn't let the cons pull him away and it became a gauntlet for him. They kept beating him and kicking him to see what it would take to have him move away," Jones said. "He never moved. Took everything for Peter."

"Oh," El said. "Oh, Neal..."

"Yeah, they said it was the bravest thing they ever saw," Jones said. "Of course, since no one else tried to help, there wasn't much contrast in that room."

Elizabeth sat with Jones and tried to be as strong as her husband. She could not get the image out of her head of Neal's body arched over Peter's, protecting him at such great cost.

It could have been friendship but she thought it was more. She had been amused at the signs she saw of Neal being attracted to Peter. Now it was no longer funny. Now it had saved Peter's life.

OooOooO

Two cups of coffee later and a long chat with a student nurse about her internship, El was finally allowed to see both of her men. They shared a room. Peter was briefly awake, smiled at her, and said something about not letting Neal eat his cereal. He was stoned out of his mind.

Neal was wide awake and miserable. He lay in his bed, his arm thin against the pillow, the plastic bracelet with his identification inelegant against his pale skin. His tracker was green because it was now programmed for the vicinity of the hospital. El went over Peter's clothing, wincing at the bloody shirt and jacket. Neither of them was salvageable. She automatically went through his pockets, removing the memos, the pens, and the other odds and ends with which her husband filled his pockets. She found a folded note and noticed her name.

Oh.

"My El,

If you are reading this, I am gone and, with me, Neal. He is with me here, trying to protect me and comfort me. I tell you that so you know I was never alone and that we had each other to worry about, lessening the fear for ourselves.

My thoughts are with you, on ten lovely years of our marriage. You have always been my wonder. I still think it is a miracle that you said yes when I asked you to be my wife. You are the center of my life even if I sometimes forget that for work. You keep me on track. You support me when I flounder and gently humble me when my head swells. You are the heart of me and, I know if I ever look for truth, all I have to do is look in your eyes.

I want to say, El, if something happens to me, don't be alone. You are too much of a treasure to spend your future as a widow.

If there is a heaven, I will wait for you there.

Love, if Neal and I don't make it out of here, please bury him next to me so we can keep each other company and so you can visit us together. Neal says that these last few months are some of the happiest days of his life and that your warmth, your willingness to make him a part of our family means so much to him.

Neal says to kiss Satchmo for him and to pet Moz for him.

You are my love, El.

Forever,

Your husband, Peter."

 

El held the letter to her heart and now she cried, silently, but her fear and her relief shaking her.

"El, are you all right?" Neal asked.

Since Peter was still asleep, El went to Neal, sat on his bed, so very gently rested her forehead against his chest, and cried it out with his hands stroking her hair.

"I could have lost him," El said when her soft gasps let her speak.

"You didn't," Neal said.

"Thanks to you," El said. "Thanks to you."

"I did it for myself," Neal replied. "You know. My keeper. Who would take me on if something happened to Peter. No big deal."

"Stop it," El said. "No, Neal, you don't get to do this."

At Neal's frightened expression, El softened her voice. She petted his face and said, "You did it because you love him as much as I do."

"El..."

"And you would never hurt me," El said. "You are such a gentleman, such a lover."

"I would as soon as die as hurt you," Neal said, blue eyes, so like her own, soft as hers in this moment.

"Just as Peter would," El said. "My heart is safe with both of you."

Gathering Neal's hand in her own, El explored them, the length of the fingers, the smoothness of his palm, the odd little scars and here and there, the mark of whatever arcane adventures he had found in his strange life. She folded Neal's hands closed. "You hold Peter's heart just like that."

"Peter..."

"Peter loves you. He has a great big heart, a guarded one, but when he gives it to you, oh, Neal, it's worth the world," El said. She closed her eyes, taking her hand away as she hugged her herself. "He's stubborn, he drinks too much beer, and he still plays basketball with the guys every chance he gets. He'll watch sports during dinner if I let him...I don't. He's also wise and warm. Brave and adorable. He loves with his entire being...he's...oh, he makes love like no one else, Neal."

El opened her eyes to see Neal's lips pink and moist, his eyes wide. If she doubted, his expression said it all.

"I wouldn't think I would ever share him," El said. "But you were willing to give your life to save his. I owe you..."

"I didn't do it for a price," Neal protested.

"I know," El said. "Do you believe I know right from wrong?"

"Of course," Neal replied. "Not like Peter tries to know. He wants to follow the law. Sometimes though, he can't stand it and he bends a little."

"And I don't care what it says in those musty law books," El said. "I know right and wrong here." She put her hand over her heart. "My heart tells me that's there's something about you and Peter that is meant to be just as there is between Peter and me."

"How?" Neal started. All his charming words failed him. He said, "I don't even know if he really wants me that way."

El laughed. She said, "Did he tell you he did?"

"Well, yes," Neal said, "But it was under duress. We didn't know we would make it out."

"So he had every reason to speak the truth, Neal," El replied.

The sudden pallor could have been Neal's injuries, but El didn't think so. She gave Neal her hand again. He held on tight. She didn't ask him about Kate. She understood- even if Peter would struggle with the idea. Neal was like Peter. He loved with his entire heart. He could not take it back even if the person to whom he gave it broke it. At the least, Neal needed to make sure that Kate was safe, that if she wanted to leave him, it was of her own will.

"El?" Neal said.

"Yes, love," El replied.

"Thank-you for trusting me," Neal said.

"I always did," El said.

The End


End file.
